


Brighter than the sun

by Pixxit



Category: No Fandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-07-08
Updated: 2007-07-08
Packaged: 2019-09-15 02:47:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16925085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pixxit/pseuds/Pixxit
Summary: Yuuta is transparent, but he's making progress.





	Brighter than the sun

Mizuki Hajime liked being alone. Growing up in a small space – and sharing that space with three sisters, besides – taught him plenty about appreciating one's own privacy. This was not to say that he didn't miss his family, but he reasoned that the separation was good for him, both in terms of his own personal development and for his parents, with whom he had very little in common. He loved them, he appreciated them, but he didn't want to _be_ either one of them.

It was for that reason that the letters he wrote to them took so long to compose. Careful in his word choices, he wrote about things that would seem almost foreign to them but that would go quite a long way in helping them to understand what he wanted from life. Mizuki Hajime knew where he was going and how he was going to get there. How many other sixteen-year-old boys could be so certain as he was? For years, he'd known who and what he truly was. He knew what he wanted. To that end, he knew that there would be sacrifices along the way, choices that he would have to make, paths he would have to take. As much disquiet and regret that some of his choices would bring, Mizuki knew that there would be no easy way around them. One had to sacrifice in order to succeed – his father had been telling him so since before he was even old enough to understand what he'd meant. And still – years later – he hadn't truly understood. Not until he'd made the decision to attend Hyoutei after junior high.

It had been in Yuuta that he'd first confided. It only seemed fitting, somehow, even though he suspected that the conversation would be a miserable one. On the one hand, his disclosure could have entailed Yuuta's upset that he was only learning of Mizuki's plans after they'd already been finalized. On the other hand, he could have been entirely unaffected and apathetic enough that he wouldn't even bother to pretend otherwise. Mizuki hadn't been certain which outcome would have been worse. As it turned out, however, he'd received neither of the reactions that he'd feared he might. Yuuta had simply nodded, calm like he rarely was, and told Mizuki that he'd see him there in a year.

Mizuki's heart had swelled the way it did when he pulled off something exceptionally brilliant and sneaky – and that was when he'd realized everything was precisely as he'd always known that it was. He _wanted_ Yuuta and – clueless though he was – Yuuta wanted him, too.

And so it had gone more or less as Mizuki had anticipated. He and Yuuta were not roommates – Mizuki did not share space well – though they spent enough time together that they might as well have been. Mizuki still helped Yuuta with his homework and tutored him when he was asked. He coached Yuuta, still, though Yuuta had long since surpassed Mizuki in both style and instinctive ability. Assuming that old habits were too hard to break, Mizuki never let on that he knew Yuuta could wipe the courts with him and Yuuta never stopped asking for Mizuki's advice even when it had become patently obvious that he didn't need it.

There had been moments whereupon Mizuki had felt almost certain that Yuuta would speak of the subtle shift in their dynamic and the spark of desire – of hope – inside him would threaten to ignite to blow the whole thing sky-high. It never happened, though, and Mizuki had begun to wonder if it ever would. It was ridiculous to doubt himself – his instincts were almost never wrong – but it wouldn't be unheard of for two boys to sustain a deep and abiding friendship without ever having it become something sexual or romantic. Even if one of those boys was as gay as a purple handbag full of rainbows and the other was certainly suspect enough. Yuuta didn't date girls, didn't talk about them. He didn't stare after shapely legs or round hips or full, firm breasts. He was fifteen years old and as somber and rough around the edges as any boy had a right to be. Yuuta had two real interests – tennis and Mizuki – and as much as Mizuki would never ask which carried more weight in Fuji Yuuta's grand design, his suspicions offered him hope enough.

Sighing, Mizuki lay pen and paper aside and arched his back – stretching his muscles and rubbing the back of his neck when he glanced at the clock on his desk. It had been nearly an hour and a half since he'd sat down to write a letter to his parents and he had every intention of finishing it before he went to sleep that night as he planned to drop it in the mail bin on his way to class in the morning. Mizuki rose early so as to time his morning stroll across campus with the tennis club's practice. Yuuta would be there; Mizuki wanted to see him. Mizuki wanted to be _seen_.

His first week at Hyoutei had not lived up to Mizuki's expectations and now – two years later – he'd yet to actually get over it. He and Atobe Keigo had squared off straight away and, push though he had, Atobe hadn't budged. He didn't need an advisor and had been clearly unwilling to share his spotlight. Despite the anger and disappointment that had been his, Mizuki had bowed out politely – he had his pride, after all – and steadfastly refused to try out for the team afterwards. He didn't need Atobe Keigo's reminders that he was never going to be the star that he wanted to be and he wouldn't lower himself by tolerating being relegated to an alternate or worse.

That hadn't stopped him, however, from pushing Yuuta and the training he'd put his kouhai through just before tryouts had been nothing short of brutal. Yuuta had sworn at him, he'd strained muscles and tested his own endurance and broken down every single barrier he'd ever constructed around himself and – in the end – his triumph had been magnificent and very well worth the effort. Under Atobe's sharp, assessing gaze, Yuuta had gone at Shishido Ryou with everything he'd had and he'd _won_. Mizuki had watched, he knew he would have been unable to stay away and – pride or no pride – he'd stood just outside the courts and watched Yuuta shine. Crowing his victory, Yuuta had bounded over to the fence to press his palm to Mizuki's through the wire and he hadn't cared at all who was watching or what they might think. It was all so innocent between them, anyway, regardless of the way it appeared to any outsiders who might be looking in.

'Did you see me, Mizuki-san? How was I? I was good, wasn't I?'

Mizuki had nodded, all business the way he knew he had to be, and allowed his fingertips to briefly touch Yuuta's before he'd taken his hand away. 'I saw. You were shiny, Yuuta-kun.'

Ridiculous, and Yuuta had laughed and reddened faintly. 'Shiny. _Whatever_.'

'No, I mean it. Brighter than the sun, I think,' he'd said, twirling strands of his hair around his fingers.

Tipping his head back, Yuuta had squinted up the sky and laughed – how Mizuki _loved_ his laugh – and when he'd pushed away from the fence, eyes alight with victory and wonder and happiness, time slowed to a crawl and Mizuki's breath had caught.

'It's cloudy out today, Mizuki-san,' he'd said, recognizing Mizuki's bias where he was concerned.

Mizuki had watched him turn and walk away, shoving off Shishido's disbelief to seek that small nod of approval that could only come from Atobe and – unbelievably – Mizuki had smiled.

Hyoutei tennis was not for him, but Yuuta would climb the ranks admirably. Just the way Mizuki had taught him.

Just _that_ way.

Falling back amidst the fluffy blanket and throw pillows, the sheets of stark white stationery and the plain, black pen that he hated but that he felt his father would prefer, Mizuki switched on his stereo and closed his eyes when the fast, peppy music filled the room. It made him want to dance and spin and run until he ran out of breath and it only made the surge all the more satisfying for the knowledge that he possessed the control to contain it. It did not, however, prevent him from singing along.

_Sweet little bumble bee_  
I know what you want from me  
Dub-di-dub-i duh-dah-dah  
Dub-di-dub-i duh-dah-dah  
Sweet little bumble bee  
More than just a fantasy…

He paused, lowering the volume and listening carefully for any sound on the other side of his door. Perhaps he was imagining things, but it had rather sounded as though someone had knocked a moment ago.

Quiet, he sat stock still, head cocked and – after a moment – it came again.

"Mizuki-san?"

Eyes widening, Mizuki sat up straight, fingercombing his hair and reaching to change the music. Just as he slid from the bed to let his toes touch the floor, Chopin's Funeral March filled the room and he paused before the mirror just long enough to smooth his pajamas and pinch his cheeks. He looked pale – it had been hours since he'd eaten.

When he opened the door, tilting his head to regard Yuuta with just that perfect mix of surprise and pleasure, Mizuki stepped back a bit to allow him inside.

"Hello, Yuuta. Come in."

Frowning in the general direction of Mizuki's stereo, Yuuta stepped inside and closed the door behind him, not waiting for Mizuki to do so. Mizuki had an odd habit of glancing out into the hallway to see if anyone was about to notice that he had a visitor – particularly when that visitor was Yuuta.

"It's late," he began. "Sorry about that."

Mizuki waved his apology away and bent over his bed to turn the stereo down. He didn't miss the way Yuuta averted his eyes in faint discomfort.

"Uh…Mizuki-san. Where you singing in English a moment ago?"

Blinking – and truly hating to lie – he wrinkled his nose. "What? Don't be ridiculous; you know I can't speak English."

Yuuta shrugged. He didn't feel as though he'd insinuated that Mizuki could speak English – he'd only asked if he'd been singing along with English lyrics. Any clown with half an ear could do that. He didn't say any of that, though. Arguing semantics with Mizuki gave Yuuta a headache.

He was silent for a moment, trying not to grimace at the awful music Mizuki was listening to – it was like the crap that Atobe played in the coach's office to make all the other guys feel stupid – and reminding himself that he shouldn't stare at Mizuki in his pajamas the way he was obviously only seconds away from doing. Mizuki looked so delicate and fresh in white and _ohgod_ why was he thinking about that?

"Did you need something, Yuuta?" Mizuki asked, clasping long, graceful fingers before him and waiting patiently. "It's not like you to be out and about this long after curfew."

"Well," Yuuta said, raking a hand through his hair and silently scolding himself for wanting to stare at Mizuki's bed. "I can't find my notes on that Chemistry test I've got tomorrow. If I don't study, I'm totally going to fail."

Mizuki nodded. "I see," he murmured, turning toward the hanging files in his bottom desk drawer. "Nakamura-sensei, yes?"

Yuuta only nodded, watching closely when Mizuki knelt before the files, soft, white pants pulled tight across his backside as he flipped through folders. His feet were bare – pale, pretty feet with shapely ankles – and Yuuta swallowed hard. He couldn't let Mizuki know the direction his thoughts had taken – it might offend him. And even if it didn't offend him (because, honestly, Mizuki was rather suspect in terms of his sexuality), it wasn't right to disrespect their friendship that way.

He did, however, take a step forward, his own sock-feet scuffling the carpet. "You kept all your notes?" he asked, somewhat disbelieving. Who _did_ things like that? Yuuta wondered, as Mizuki gazed up at him, if he'd kept them for Yuuta's benefit or if he was just that much of a packrat. Yuuta decided that he'd rather not know the answer. Either way, it was going to make him feel weird.

"Of course I did. I thought you might have need of them sometime," Mizuki said, as though it were the most sensible, obvious thing in the world. "And I was right, wasn't I?"

Yuuta blushed – could feel it and couldn't stop it – and nodded once or twice. "Guess so."

Standing then, Mizuki lay a folder on the desk and ducked his head as he began to flip through the papers within. Yuuta licked his lips, tried to tear his eyes away from Mizuki's pale, smooth neck to focus on the papers he hadn't expected to be given.

"Unit? Chapter?" Mizuki asked and Yuuta mumbled his best guess. Mizuki smelled good; he was far too distracting.

When he straightened again, offering a small sheaf of papers to Yuuta, Mizuki's eyes were dark and serious and belied the faint smile that curved his lips. "Do you want some help? You can stay here a while and I'll help you study if you like."

Stay. In Mizuki's room. On his bed. Beside his slight, willowy body and all those lavender-scented pillows. Yuuta's belly tightened.

"Uh…no thank you, Mizuki-san. I, uh…I think it'll be a long night." God, was it going to be a long night.

Sensing some disappointment in the way Mizuki's smile faltered, Yuuta wondered if perhaps he shouldn't have accepted. He knew, though, when Mizuki glanced away, rubbing his chin thoughtfully and calling attention to the shape of his jaw, his neck, that to stay would be the worst possible thing he could do. Proximity didn’t make for good perspective – he'd learned _that_ from his brother.

"Thank you, though," he added, quickly. "I mean, you probably saved my butt again."

At Mizuki's calm, expectant expression, Yuuta found that he simply could not stop talking and he rushed to continue, lest he drop the folder on the floor and pull Mizuki into his arms the way he'd been wanting to do since the day they'd been caught out in the rain together. That awful, _beautiful_ , fateful day that had obliterated Yuuta's childish ignorance – his blissful naivety. "Can I take you out for lunch this weekend? We can go out for teriyaki and we'll stop by that bath place that you like."

_You know, Muziki-san, the one with the soap that smells like you that I go into sometimes just to stand next to the shelves for so long that my dick gets hard and I can't leave right away because I'm thinking of you and hating myself._

Mizuki's smile – the one that made his dark eyes so shiny – was like a sucker punch to the midsection and Yuuta forced a crooked grimace of his own. "Okay? Okay, Mizuki-san?"

Mizuki nodded. "Sounds good. It's not necessary, but I appreciate it all the same, Yuuta-kun."

When Yuuta didn't answer and had yet to move toward the door, Mizuki shrugged a little and linked his hands before him again. "I like spending time with you."

Blushing furiously, Yuuta held the folder before him – low over his groin – and nodded quickly. "Yes, me too. I mean, with you."

He turned, then, eyes closed in abject embarrassment as he grasped for the doorknob. He didn't look back, much as he wanted to. One look at Mizuki's mouth would have him jerking his dick more than once tonight – and he truly _did_ have a test to study for.

"Thank you again, Mizuki-san! Have a good night and I'll see you tomorrow!"

Before he had a chance to offer his own farewell, the door slammed closed and Yuuta was gone – Mizuki could hear his retreating footsteps quick in the corridor. Pinching the bridge of his nose, Mizuki took a deep, calming breath and climbed back onto his bed. Before he picked up his pen once again, he switched the music back to what he'd been enjoying before he'd had unexpected company.

Smiling, he returned to his letter – picking up on the very thought he'd left – and wiggled his toes in time to the music. He wavered for a moment as he considered telling them that he had a date this weekend. With Fuji Yuuta, the boy he'd loved since junior high. In the end, though, he opted against it. It wasn't time and, honestly, he didn't think his parents were ready to hear it. That certainty, though, wasn't enough to diminish the buoyant happiness he experienced. That Yuuta had studying to do tonight was not something that Mizuki doubted, but since the notes he'd asked for were for a test he'd taken three weeks ago, Mizuki felt that his impromptu visit signified something a bit more delicious than performance anxiety. Of the academic kind, anyway.

_Sweet little bumble bee_  
I know what you want from me  
Dub-di-dub-i duh-dah-dah  
Dub-di-dub-i duh-dah-dah

 

 

 

 


End file.
